Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Buckler's ears stood up in admiration of the mole's scheme. "Now, that's what I call a great plan! We'll tip loads of everything over the wall, right here over the main gate. Aye, an' we'll shore it up from the inside, too. Hah, it'd take an army of vermin a couple o' seasons to ram their way through that lot!"

Skipper slammed his rudder down on the walkway. "Ahoy, mates, we'll have t'get started real sharpish, afore the vermin git their ram up an' rurvnin'!"

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Redwall Abbey immediately became a hive of activity. Foremole and his trusty crew began digging up the lawn and some flower beds. Oakheart got an earth-moving chain in motion. Improvised stretchers were loaded up with soil, gravel, clay, stones and turf. The biggest and sturdiest creatures carried these to the walltop. Meanwhile, Flib and Trajidia Witherspyk rigged a rope and pulley up on the walkway. A line of the young, helped by some old ones, bore an assortment of vessels. Bowls, pails, ewers, cauldrons, anything that could be filled with soil and debris, was passed from paw to paw. Sniffy hooked them to the pulley, whilst Flib and Trajidia hauled away energetically. Jango got a work song going, something of a shanty. Everybeast soon caught onto the chorus, roaring it out lustily, even the Dibbuns. Anybeast who was not sure of the verse just kept chanting the "haul up" bits. It all worked rather well.

"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me call, the strong of heart must play their part, for the sake of ole Redwall... haul up!

"Dig up that earth for all yore worth, fill all those pails again, an' just let me catch one of ye, complainin' of a pain!

"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me call, the strong of heart must play their part, for the sake of ole Redwall... haul up!

"Come on now, mateys, bend those backs, there's loads o' work to do, if you don't toil an' tote that soil, you'll let down all this crew!

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"Haul up! Haul up!

Haul up, d'ye hear me call, the strong of heart must play their part, for the sake of ole Redwall... haul up!

"So haul 'em up an' lower 'em down, no time to moan or weep,

'til every mother's whelp o' ye, can roar out in yore sleep ... haul up!"

Oakheart laboured alongside Buckler, heaving rubble over the wall. Together they tipped the contents of an old wheelbarrow onto the growing heap in the gateway below.

The florid hedgehog spat on his paws, reaching for a heaped cauldron. "Y'know, the higher that hill gets, the more I worry!"

Buckler emptied a pail over the edge. "What's worryin' you, Oakie?"

His friend pointed at the growing heap. "If it gets much higher, the vermin will be able to climb up here on it. Have y'thought of that?"

The Salamandastron Blademaster smiled wolfishly. "Aye, the thought had crossed my mind. I hope Zwilt the Shade is the first to try it. I wager he'll be dying to meet me!"

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At the same time the vermin party were cutting boughs in the woodland, two beasts were watching them from a hiding place nearby. It was Vilaya and Gliv. The Sable Quean's wound was healing nicely. It had scabbed over and was not causing her any great discomfort. She was being disguised by the female stoat, whilst keeping an eye on the work party.

"Here, tear a strip off my cloak, a bloodstained piece. Now tie it around my brow, Gliv, good. How does that look?"

The stoat knotted the material beneath Vilaya's right ear. "Take off yore cloak. I'll smear some soil on yore face." Gliv did this, leaning in close to check the effect. "Aye, ye look the part now. Anybeast'd take ye for an ole Ravager who's taken a scratch or two. Come on, let's gather some leafy branches an' join 'em."

The Sable Quean drew her helper closer, murmuring to her, "No, you stay here. I'll go with them--it's better that I go alone."

Gliv glanced uneasily at her. "But what about me? What am I supposed to do?"

Vilaya was smiling now. The stoat had seen that smile before. She tried to pull away, but Vilaya held her tight.

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"You've been a lot of help to me, Gliv, but I don't need you anymore. Be still, now!"

Gliv felt the sudden sting at her throat--she gazed in frozen horror at her killer. Vilaya was still smiling as she clamped a paw over her victim's mouth.

"I took back my little dagger while you were tying that rag about my head. Go to sleep now. Your work is done."

Gliv died with her eyes wide open, still staring at the smiling face of the one whose life she had saved.

Fallug snarled at the branch carriers as they lugged their burdens back into the vermin camp. "You lot took yore time. C'mon, move yerselves--that stuff's needed. Shift yore lazy paws along, c'mon!"

A river rat muttered to Vilaya, "Huh, lissen to ole swollen 'ead throwin 'is weight about."

Vilaya replied in a sullen whisper, "We should only be takin' orders from Zwilt. Where is he?"

The rat shrugged. "I dunno, but he's left Fallug in charge. We've got t'call 'im Chief now. Weasels, eh, they're all the same, bossy an' thick'eaded, ain't that right, mate?"

Vilaya spat on the ground. "Right! But I wonder where Zwilt's got to. Ain't 'e goin' to attack the Abbey with us?"

A stoat who had overheard the pair nodded northward over the flatlands. "I think ole Zwilt's got 'is own plan. I saw 'im goin' off over that way with four others. They was carryin' ropes an' some 'ooks."

Before he could elaborate, Fallug cuffed his ear roughly. "Yore not here to chat. Now, git those branches tied t'that frame an' fix it over the batterin' ram."

He turned irately to Grakk, a weasel he had promoted to captain. "Wot is it now, eh?"

Grakk saluted with his spear. "Chief, that lot in the Abbey are tippin' stuff over the wall in front o' the gate, I think!"

Fallug stared at him pityingly. "Who told you y'could

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think, mudbrains? Leave the thinkin' t'me or Lord Zwilt. Yore here t'carry out orders, that's all!"

Vilaya moved away from the group until she was behind a small rise. She crouched there until the moment was right. With everybeast facing the Abbey or preparing the ram, she stole quietly off into the flatlands, heading north until she crossed Zwilt's trail. He and his escort were travelling in an arc. Vilaya knew they would cross the path into the woodlands, then go south to Redwall Abbey. After all, what else was Zwilt the Shade interested in?

Diggs had lost his way, but the tubby hare was not to be put off. Peering intently at the woodland floor, he shuffled slowly onward, chunnering relentlessly. "Ahah, wait now, I think we're on the right blinkin' track. Never lost for long if you're a bally Long Patrol chappie, wot!"

Ambrevina idly twirled her long sling. The huge badger maid leaned against a sycamore, observing ironically, "Never lost for long, eh? Then it's just as well I've got you for a guide, friend."

Without looking up, Diggs chunnered on. "Oh, yes, did a half season y'know. Learnin' trackin', sign readin' an' whatnot from old Corporal Broomscuttle. Jolly good old type Broomie was, taught me a heap of useful stuff. I was his bloomin' star pupil, y'know."

His badger companion was trying hard not to smile. "Were you, really? That's good to know!"

Studying the ground intently, Diggs chuckled. "Haw haw, you can bet your grandma's marchin' boots it is. See this small, faint track here? That's a sort o' wotsit beetle. Forgotten the blighter's name, but the thing is this, it always travels south. Hah, an' by my reckonin' that's where the Abbey is. Er, or was it west? No bother, Tracker Diggs'll soon find it, wot!"

The garrulous hare got no further, owing to the fact that Ambrevina lifted him up bodily. Perching him on

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her shoulder, she pointed to her right. Above the trees-- directly in the opposite direction Diggs had been taking-- Redwall's Belltower stood out like a pikestaff. She enquired calmly, "What d'you suppose that is, Tracker Diggs?"